Wishful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 3)

by Angela Pepper

  “What were you two talking about when I came in? He had a guilty look on his face when he saw me.”

  “He was trying to ask me for a favor.”

  Bentley raised an eyebrow. “Beware of new friends asking favors.”

  “I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, Detective.”

  He pressed his lips together in that cute way of his.

  I said, “We might trade favors sometime.” I explained how Harry was familiar with my vehicle, and how he’d offered to give Foxy Pumpkin a tune-up.

  “It’s my fault for scaring him off this morning,” Bentley said. “Before I knew about this town’s secrets, he was one of the people I questioned about his family’s connection with all the Wakeful businesses that disappeared a few decades back. He comes from a long line of inventors and mechanical engineers, though they weren’t always called that.” Bentley gave me a press-me-for-more look.

  I batted my eyelashes. “Is that so? Tell me more.”

  “Arvus Blackstone claimed to have the formula for turning lead into gold.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s easy. It’s just three protons. Everyone knows that. The problem is that the energy input required to make the transformation exceeds the value of the gold. At current rates, anyway.”

  He gave me an amused look. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised at what’s in that librarian head of yours, and yet I am.”

  I beamed at him.

  There was the swish-swish of corduroy pants, size small. A preschool-aged child had wandered into the reading nook. He looked up at Little Red Riding Hood with big eyes, whimpered, and ran away in terror.

  “I should get going,” Bentley said. “I just wanted to let you know about your father being in town, plus one other thing.”

  “Your new partner?”

  He glanced down and kicked at a patch of stray glitter on the carpet, spreading it like a comet streak. “Something else,” he said.

  I didn’t like the sound of his reluctance. “Now what?”

  “My ex-wife,” he said. “She’s actually, technically...”

  My stomach clenched. “What?”

  “Still my wife,” he said.

  My legs were suddenly weak. I took a seat on one of the upholstered stools. It was safe enough; We’d had them all steam-cleaned following the storytime incident.

  “It’s just a formality,” Bentley said. “Until I sign some paperwork.”

  I almost laughed. “Is that all?” I stood again. “For a minute there, I thought it was something serious.”

  He tugged at his ear, avoiding eye contact. “The thing about my wife is—”

  “Don’t,” I said, cutting him off. “You might think I want to know all about her, but, believe me, I do not.”

  “I want to be completely transparent. There are things you should know.”

  “Do you have kids with her?”

  “No.”

  “Do you own a charming Bed and Breakfast together? Or some other ongoing business?”

  “What? No.”

  “Do you still...” Love her? “Share a pet? Maybe a goldfish, or a Bichon Frise? I know it seems weirdly specific, but I’ve noticed there are an awful lot of fluffy white dogs at the heart of pet custody disputes.”

  “No pets,” he said. “No children, businesses, or pets.”

  “Then we’re good,” I said. “I don’t need to know any more. Not even her name. For the purposes of future discussions, which I hope will be infrequent, she shall be referred to as X. The letter X.”

  He frowned.

  “One more question,” I said. “Does X live around here?”

  “No.”

  I already knew that from our previous conversations, but figured it didn’t hurt to make sure.

  “Zara, the thing is...” His gaze flicked over to focus on something or someone behind me.

  I turned to find Persephone Rose standing behind me, her hand partly covering her face as she nervously smoothed her thick, dark bangs. How long had she been standing there? The area was carpeted, but even so, I was surprised at how silent she’d been. I hadn’t experienced someone sneaking up on me unnoticed in a long time. I sniffed the air between us. My nose wasn’t nearly as sensitive as my fox shifter daughter’s, but my sensory powers had all improved with witchhood. The young woman had no scent whatsoever that I could detect. She was as scentless as Boa’s fur after a nap in the sun.

  “You don’t smell,” I said to her. “What are you?”

  Her big, brown eyes widened, and a deep blush spread across her whole face. Her jaw dropped and she half-stammered, half-croaked, “Wh-a-a-?”

  I prepared to cast a bluffing spell. She would tell me, if I applied a little pressure. She didn’t strike me as the toughest walnut to crack.

  But then Bentley placed a warm hand on my shoulder and murmured, “Don’t.”

  I muttered back at him, “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

  He gave me the look that said he knew better.

  I nodded and let the magic tingling inside me dissipate. Zara tries to be a good witch. A patient witch. Zara doesn’t crack people like walnuts unless they really deserve it.

  Persephone Rose apologized for interrupting our conversation, and gave her new partner an update on an ongoing case.

  Bentley thanked her, gave me a quick peck on the cheek goodbye, and told me to call him immediately if my father turned up again.

  Persephone did that thing where she pretended to not be interested in our conversation, which only made it more obvious she was dying to know more. So obvious. Like I said, not the toughest walnut.

  * * *

  At lunch time, right when Charlize was due to stop by, I suddenly received a vision. Only I didn’t realize it was a vision at first. I was updating the database with some new items, and the keyboard melted under my fingers. As I stared down in horror, the computer monitor melted. The acrid smell of burning plastic made my eyes water. Before I could cast a single spell, everything around me melted. Every book and shelf in the library. Melted. Into... rivers of lava?

  Then I blinked, and everything was back to normal.

  That was odd.

  I turn to ask Kathy if she’d noticed anything unusual; but then, everything melted again.

  This time it was different. Instead of one long melt, there were only two short bursts—like the way someone might honk a horn if they were waiting outside to pick you up.

  Charlize. The gorgon was there for our lunch date, and that was her special “honk.”

  Life was never dull when you had supernatural friends.

  Chapter 6

  I slid into the passenger seat of the Beetle named Bugsy. Fast food bags and wrappers crumpled under my shoes. I could be messy, too, but the level of chaos inside Bugsy was alarming. The usual flotsam and jetsam that lived in the back seat of the gorgon’s vehicle had expanded like some sort of ecological disaster.

  Under my butt, something made a whoopee cushion sound, and no, it wasn’t my bum. Or even a whoopee cushion. I reached underneath my buttocks and pulled out a flattened cream puff. I set the mangled pastry into the debris forming a nest by my feet, and used magic to transfer the stain from my skirt to the bottom of my socks.

  Charlize, oblivious to my issue with the state of her vehicle, said, “How’d you like my special honk?”

  Her special honk? I struggled to find the words. “Like it? I thought the world was ending.”

  “It’s good, right?”

  “If you mean good as in powerful, then yes.”

  “You weren’t impressed?”

  “Oh, I was impressed. But next time you come pick me up, I’d rather you honk the car horn. Forget what I said about not honking.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She hit the gas and gave me a soldier’s salute while she used one elbow to steer the car. The tires spun, kicking up loose gravel, as she pulled into traffic without so much as a shoulder check. Behind us, a big black truck honked as the driver slammed on th
e brakes to avoid rear-ending us.

  “Charlize!” I stared at her in horror. The debris in the back seat rustled as it slid around, and something living chittered in displeasure. I didn’t dare look.

  “What?” She kept facing ahead as she chewed on two fingernails at the same time—one from each hand—while continuing to steer with her elbows. Her other, visible nails were ragged. Had she always been a nail biter? I couldn’t remember the condition of her nails before. I wasn’t a manicure sort of gal, so it wasn’t a thing I paid much attention to.

  I asked, “Is everything okay? You look a bit...”

  I stared at her as I struggled to finish the question. The blonde gorgon’s usually-pretty ringlets hung limply, except for a patch near the back of her head, which was on its way to becoming a matted clump, or a single dreadlock. Her blue eyes were framed by purple shadows. She was wearing one of her favorite silver jumpsuits, but it was wrinkled and stained.

  She looked like garbage. Like stewed garbage on a stale cracker.

  I said delicately, “You look like they’ve been working you too hard at the Department.”

  She said nothing as she cut off another driver.

  I asked, “Is something big going on?”

  “Something big?” She spat out her words. “I wouldn’t know if there was. I’m on leave.” The magical snakes within the gorgon’s hair stirred and hissed at me half-heartedly. Charlize scoffed and spat out more words. “Management felt that it would be in everyone’s interest for me to go on leave for a while. Management felt that some time away from the office would be good for me.”

  “Because of what happened with your computer program?” I was a touch hazy on the details about Codex, but I’d gotten the gist through my usual sources.

  Charlize snorted. “First, they hail you as a genius. They give you unlimited resources. The sky’s the limit! Literally. They put a sky ceiling in your office.” She laughed bitterly.

  “It’s a nice sky ceiling,” I said.

  “When you’re their darling, their whiz kid, everything’s peachy keen. Until one little thing goes slightly wrong. Then you’re the pariah. Or worse. You’re nobody.” She muttered what felt like swear words, but in an ancient language I didn’t speak. Her hair snakes snapped at each other, infighting and leaving red marks on her pale cheeks.

  What I should have said was nothing. But because we were good friends now, and I figured she needed the perspective only a good friend could provide, I didn’t say nothing.

  I said, “Charlize, your crazy computer program summoned an ancient goddess who was going to bring on the apocalypse so she could remake humanity and the world the way she wanted it. I wouldn’t call that one little thing going slightly wrong.”

  The blonde with the matted, snake-filled hair pressed her mouth into a grim line, hit the gas, and sped through an intersection’s red light. More vehicles honked.

  Zara delivers the tough love because she’s a good friend. However, Zara could be less about the tough and more about the love.

  “So you’re taking some time off,” I said in a gentler tone. “Time off can be nice. You can spend more time with Jordan Junior. Last night at Chet’s house, I noticed he’s growing like a weed.” Or like something far more deadly than a weed. “Where is Chet, anyway? Why do you have his phone?”

  “I don’t have his phone. We had his number forwarded to mine. As for where he is, he’s up there.” She pulled one chewed, red fingertip from her mouth and pointed upward through the windshield at the sky.

  In heaven? Dead? No. My body turned cold and heavy, as though I was turning into one of Charlize’s granite statues. Chet Moore couldn’t be dead. I’d seen him last night and he’d been fine. Happy, even. Really happy. Perhaps I’d hallucinated the whole thing.

  My words came out squeaky. “He’s up where, exactly?”

  “Flying to London,” Charlize said. “In a plane. Not as a bird or anything.” She laughed hollowly. “He’s still just a wolf.”

  “Oh.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realize I was holding. “I didn’t know he had a trip today. Is it Department business, or is he scouting a place for the family to live?”

  “He’s gone, Zara.” She jerked upright and took a break from punching the gas to hit the brakes.

  “Gone?” I braced my palms on the dash to keep from flying through the windshield as we screeched to a halt. I’d forgotten to buckle my seat belt when I’d climbed into Bugsy, and the sticky pastries that were still under my butt were not effective at holding me in place. Not even the jam tarts.

  “Their stuff is getting packed up by the movers today,” Charlize said with a note of bitterness. “The four of them left this morning with a couple of suitcases. Just like that. ‘See ya later, alligator!’ Lucky me, I get to hang out at the house all day and supervise the movers because I have literally nothing else going on.”

  I couldn’t imagine the Moore house without its people. “Grampa Don is gone? And Corvin?”

  “They’re all gone.” Another hollow chuckle. “Gone for good, gone for bad, who knows.”

  My insides felt as cavernous as the gorgon’s laugh. “But they didn’t say anything last night at the barbecue. They said they would be moving before the new school year started, but... If I had known, I wouldn’t have ducked out early. I would have stayed and said goodbye. I would have...”

  I trailed off, and in the silence, I completely understood.

  “Yup,” Charlize said dryly.

  “I would have made leaving more difficult,” I said.

  We screeched to a halt in front of a Mexican restaurant.

  My body, now motionless after the roller coaster ride, felt heavier than ever.

  The Moores were gone.

  Chapter 7

  Inside the restaurant, Charlize made the switch from chewing on her abused fingernails to chewing on the “bottomless” nacho chips the Mexican restaurant offered.

  I cast the sound bubble for privacy. With a little prodding, she went into more detail about exactly what happened with her creation, the Artificial Intelligence known as Codex. I reviewed my experience with the goddess Mahra. Charlize kept yawning. She was slightly more interested in hearing about Bentley’s efforts to make sure everything on my body was working properly, but even then, she wasn’t terribly interested.

  She kept looking up at the television screen that was mounted on the wall in between the giant sombreros.

  I switched topics, telling her instead about encountering my father that morning.

  Charlize said, “You know, Zara, your father isn’t a bad guy.”

  “I never said he was. But he does bad things.”

  “Only for good reasons. He’s been secretly working for the DWM for years.”

  I sat back in my chair, feeling lighter. I had figured as much, but it was sobering to have it confirmed.

  Charlize grabbed a fistful of nachos, destroyed them in no time, and signaled the waiter to bring more as she continued. “Rhys was only operating as a go-between on Project Buttercup because Tansy Wick didn’t trust the DWM. She was a paranoid woman.”

  “Was she? Really? Paranoid?”

  Charlize guffawed as she leaned back and grabbed a basket of nachos from a waiter who’d been heading toward a different table. The waiter took one look at her and hurried back to the kitchen to get more.

  I went on. “You have to admit, the lines between the good guys and the bad guys are pretty hazy.”

  “She set her dogs loose on your father. She could have killed him. Who’s the bad person in this scenario? From where I’m sitting, it looks like it’s the lady who knowingly tried to kill a shifter.”

  I looked away. “Yeah, well, her karma came due in the end, didn’t it?”

  Charlize laughed. “Karma. That’s cute. You witches are so fascinating, with your archaic, demonic superstitions.”

  “Whatever.” I waved both hands to show I was about finished with the topic of conversation. I didn’t even car
e if she knew anything about what business my father had in town.

  Charlize said, “Good guy or not, your father didn’t leave you for dead. He was smart enough to know he was in over his head. He called me, which was why I was there to save your life.”

  “Thanks again for killing me and unkilling me.”

  “No prob.” She blinked, then slowly brought her thumbnail to her lips. She bit the white of the nail away, and it didn’t grow back. I was fascinated. Magic certainly had a mind of its own. The gorgon could spontaneously heal from injuries. So why did she have chewed-up fingernails and now chapped lips, too? Was she willfully shutting down her healing powers, or did fingernails have some magical exemption?

  She asked, “Did Rhys say why he was in town?”

  “I told you. He didn’t say anything. I thought you’d know.”

  She shrugged. Either she didn’t know, or wasn’t authorized to tell me.

  I tried to engage her in conversation about other topics, but she kept looking at the TV on the wall.

  Charlize interrupted me mid-sentence, as though I was just background noise, and said, “Her life must be perfect.” She was looking at the TV.

  “Who?” I didn’t turn to look.

  “Her.” The gorgon narrowed her eyes. The air crackled with energy, and her blue eyes lost their blue, turning a shade of granite.

  I waved my hand in front of her face. “Easy now,” I said. “Don’t crack that screen with your gorgon death ray.”

  She kept staring at the image on the television.

  I turned and followed her gaze. The woman on TV was a famous actress named Larissa Lang. She was a Chinese-Canadian woman who’d gotten her start in Hollywood playing a teenager on the TV comedy-drama series Wicked Wives. I’d been a huge fan of both her and the show as a teenager. I’d been watching a double-length pre-finale episode the night I went into labor with Zoey.

  My aunt, who knew an awful lot about Wicked Wives for someone who claimed to have never watched it regularly, suspected the series had actual witches on the writing staff. At the very least, they had supernaturals consulting. The details about the magic system were too accurate to be mere coincidence. Plus there was the giant red flag that the four main characters were named after the Four Eves: Quenya, the warrior queen; Dinara, the thinker; Amora, the lover; and last but far from least, Mahra, the mother and destroyer.